


A Year After

by darkness_prince_dan



Series: Song based drabbles [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkness_prince_dan/pseuds/darkness_prince_dan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's gone and Dan has to learn how to live without him.<br/>A short sad drabble based on the song 'Saturn' by Sleeping At Last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year After

Fingertips glide over skin, tenderly caressing, leaving lingering tingles. Heart flutters loud, excited, in love. Lips ghost over his, not quite touching, teasing, butterflying kisses on his cheek. The smell of something sweet, sunny, reassuring, home-like envelops him. A shuddering breath, a name drips liquid sin off his lips. Fingers intertwine, they move together, trembling. Nipping at his earlobe, ‘you’re wonderful’, ‘you’re so perfectly imperfect’, ‘I adore you’, ‘you’re my universe’ all whispered tenderly, reverently. He’s hovering over him, their eyes meet, flitting over features, engraving it all in their minds, smiles spreading on their own accord. The gentlest of touches on his cheek, fingertips so soft and light on his bottom lip, he closes his eyes revelling in the closeness, the intimacy of the moment. It’s soothing, just hearing him breathe, feeling the warmth radiating off his body.

He opens his eyes. A dream. The empty room echoes the suddenly aching thundering of his heart. He turns his head to the right, where Phil used to be every night. He’s not there. Of course, he’s not there, you idiot. Tears prick his eyes, Dan lets them fall.

It used to be worse a few days after it happened. Not instantly after, no. It was actually better  _just_  after: he was numb, floating, barely existing because it’s not true and this is not his life, that couldn’t have happened. Days later he’d wake up screaming, hyperventilating, sobbing. It would take him minutes to realise that this  _is_  real, that Phil’s gone forever, and a few hours to calm down. The first couple of weeks he’d come home expecting to see Phil there, cooking and humming something off key, or staring intently at his laptop, a wrinkle on his forehead as he’s deep in thought, or napping on the sofa, curled into a ball. He’d get angry at himself for being foolish and forgetful, for expecting something that will never again happen.

A month in, he’d deny himself to even think about him. He boxed all the reminders, removed Phil from his life as if he never existed. It didn’t help much. The flat was the problem. He’d think that Phil’s just around the corner, just in the next room, he’d see his silhouette late at night in every and any shadow, he’d hear him in the kitchen or tapping on his computer. Dan considered moving but couldn’t make himself to do so. He’s such a masochistic fool, he’d think to himself. Later he was glad he didn’t move.

Four months after, he’d go through the pictures, the memories. Tears streaming down his face, a sad smile on his lips. He erased all the bad times, all the fights and arguments. He idolised him, made him a miracle in his mind, the best thing to ever exist, a celestial being who graced Dan with his existence. He wanted him back oh so desperately, begged the universe to give him back, said he’d give anything to at least talk to him once more.

Now a year has passed and it has violently ripped out of his mind all the carefully guarded keepsakes. The memories are dim, cloudy at best. Dan has no idea what kind of blue Phil’s eyes actually were, how his laugh really resounded through their flat, how his touches felt, or what he would whisper at night when they both couldn’t sleep. It’s all slipping through his fingers and he can do nothing to stop it. That’s what scares him the most – forgetting the person who once was your whole universe. The dreams then come to reassure him. They’re vivid and vibrant and Dan gasps for air when he wakes up because it’s too overwhelming, too real to not have been true.

Dan’s lying on his back, staring at the oranges of streetlamp lights making ornaments on the ceiling. There’s one memory he’ll never lose, he thinks. The night before.

It was their anniversary. Phil took him to the beach at night when it was freezing cold. They sat on the sand, cuddled up under a blanket, sharing quick short kisses. The salty air, the crashing of the waves, the black sky dotted with stars. It was magical.

“It’s been a good run for us, hasn’t it?” Phil whispered in Dan’s hair.

“Are you breaking up with me on our anniversary?” Dan raised his eyebrows turning to the other.

“Yes, Dan, I brought you on this super romantic date to break up with you, kill you and toss your body in the ocean,” Phil rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Rude,” Dan said. “That was my plan,” he kissed Phil on the cheek.

“I mean it, though,” Phil murmured after a moment. “How rare is it for two people who are basically soul mates exist at the same time and fall in love? I think it’s beautiful,” he shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re a sap today,” Dan commented offhandedly.

“I’m allowed to be sappy today,” Phil butterflied kisses on Dan’s neck. “I love you, I’ll always love, don’t ever forget that.”

Dan just smiled then, dismissing Phil’s words, he’d heard them thousands of times before. Now he’d give anything to hear it again, to hear  _him_  say it again.

He rolls onto his side, fingertips tracing over the space where Phil should be. But it’s been a year and he’s not there, he’ll never be there. It doesn’t take Dan hours to recover from the dream. His heart’s still throbbing painfully, though, and he doesn’t think it will ever stop aching. However, he’s slowly learning to live with it, cherish it so he wouldn’t forget him completely, so that he’d know that what they had truly existed.


End file.
